


Mycelial Travel Through Space and Time

by orphean



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Dubious Science, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 00:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17435987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphean/pseuds/orphean
Summary: 'The major tells me your name is Paul. Tell me, Paul, what are you doing in the Expanse?' Never, in a million years, had Paul thought he would meet Jonathan Archer. He was not just a historical figure, he was a legend.-----After a jump, Paul Stamets finds himself displaced in time. Meanwhile, Tilly struggles to find out what has happened to him.





	Mycelial Travel Through Space and Time

**Author's Note:**

> inb4 the start of S2!!! I started this approximately a million years ago, so I'm glad to finally finish it. Enjoy!! Special thank you to apolesen for beta-ing.
> 
> No spoilers for Discovery – I'm thinking this is set sometime after 1x07 (Magic to Make the Sanest Man Go Mad) and before 1x09 (Into the Forest I Go). As for Enterprise, this is set during the third season – probably somewhere after 3x15 (The Harbinger), but it's up to you. No spoilers beyond that which is obvious if you know there's a fourth season of Enterprise.

'How are we looking for another jump, cadet?' Captain Lorca's voice came through the speakers in Engineering. Tilly kept blinking, thinking that maybe if she blinked enough, the world would right itself. 'Cadet? Is Stamets good for another jump?'

She opened her mouth, willing the words to come out. She squeezed her eyes shut, but everything was still wrong when she opened them again.

'That's–that's just it, sir,' she finally managed.

'What is?' Lorca didn't even bother hiding the annoyance in his voice. She could imagine him running a hand over his forehead, rolling his eyes. 'What's going on down there?'

'It's lieutenant Stamets, sir,' she said, her voice breaking. 'He's _gone_.'

 

* * *

 

Paul did not know where he was. He was not in the spore chamber. Hell, he wasn't even on _Discovery_ . He seemed to be in some kind of storage unit. How did he get here? What _was_ here? And how could he get home?

'Hands on your head. Turn around slowly.' The voice made Paul jump. He had thought he was alone in here. He put his hands on his head and spun around. A man in grey-scale camouflage was pointing a gun at him. There was something familiar about that camouflage, but he couldn't a finger on it, and besides, the gun was _very_ distracting.

'Where am I?' Paul asked.

'Quiet,' said the man. He moved one of his hands off his gun and reached for something in his pocket, eyes still trained on Paul.

'Really, I'm not a threat, I'm just wond–'

The shot surprised him. It hit him in the chest, barrelling him backwards and knocking him to the floor. He was still conscious, but the world was bleeding at the edges. Was this what it felt like being shot? He didn't like it. Although he couldn't move, at least there didn't seem to be any blood. Stunned, then.

'Hayes here. Found an intruder in cargo bay C. I'm bringing him to the brig. Suggest a full recon to make sure there's no one else.' So the man had shot him was called Hayes. He felt, rather than saw, Hayes approach, heavy boots loud against the metal floor. He leaned over him, lifting his eyelids to check if he was conscious and producing a pair of handcuffs that he clipped over his wrists. Then, in one quick movement, Paul felt himself lifted up and carried away. He drifted off to the sound of heavy boots against a metal floor.

 

* * *

 

'Gone? What do you mean, _gone_?'

'He – the jump, sir, he – I mean. He's not in the spore chamber. He's just _gone_.' Tilly swallowed. 'He disappeared after the last jump.'

The string of swearing that the captain unleashed was not befitting his rank, but Tilly couldn't blame him.

'Burnham and I are coming down. Lorca out.'

 

* * *

 

Paul found himself placed on a hard bunk in a locked room. The effects of the stun shot were dissipating, and he was becoming aware of his surroundings. He was in a cell. The camoflaged man – Hayes, was it? – was on the other side of the glass wall, speaking into a communicator. He could see the emblem on his arm: a stylised shark, with two words stitched around it: _M.A.C.O._ and _Enterprise_. Where had he ended up – some kind of history reenactment centre? But if this was reenactment, why did he get shot? He couldn't put it together.

Then the door opened. A shorter man with a sharp nose and thin lips entered. Paul recognised him – he had seen him in dozens of books when he was a child. This was Malcolm Reed.

Except it couldn't be, of course. Malcolm Reed had been born 140 years ago, and this man didn't look older than someone in his late thirties. Reed – or the man posing as Reed – said something and the two men fell into a discussion filled with scowls and frowns. He couldn't hear what they were saying. They didn't look at each other, keeping their focus on Paul. Paul waved. Reed said something and Hayes shrugged in response. Reed rolled his eyes.

Reed pressed a button, allowing sound to pass through the glass.

'What were you doing in cargo bay C?'

'Are you Malcolm Reed?' Paul asked. Reed frowned. Hayes glanced from Paul to Reed, suspicious.

'How do you know my name?' Paul had watched the old recordings from the first NX mission when he was a child, and he had been entranced by the English lilt of Reed's voice. If this wasn't Malcolm Reed, it was someone who could do one hell of an impression.

'Sir, with all due respect, I think we should –'

' _No_ , Major. We can start this interrogation without the captain. He's in the brig, you cuffed him – what do you expect he'll do?' Reed raised his voice. The major inclined his head, but Paul could see him raise his eyebrows in annoyance.

'Sir, we don't know who or _what_ he is. Protocol says we shouldn't engage without –'

'I'm lieutenant Paul Stamets. I'm human. I came here by accident.' Paul decided that laying the cards out was the best solution. Hayes threw him a dirty look for interrupting and Reed smirked, presumably because Paul _had_ cut him off. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but fell silent when he heard a low ringing sound.

'Bridge to Reed.' A woman's voice. Reed answered the call. 'Captain Archer is on his way. He wants to do this one himself.'

'Acknowledged.' Reed slammed his fist against the button, ending the call. Now it was Hayes' turn to smirk, a self-satisfied grin of _told you so_.

'Did she say… Captain Archer?' The pieces were coming together, but… the only explanation didn't make any sense. Surely that was impossible?

'Yes. Do you know his name, too?'

'My high school was named after him,' Paul said. Both men on the other side of the glass looked confused. Reed opened his mouth, but Paul couldn't hear what he said. Hayes had turned off the speaker.

He watched them bicker through the glass, wondering if this really _was_ Malcolm Reed, if it was _that_ captain Archer, if he was on _the Enterprise_ , if this meant that he had somehow travelled back in time. Did the mycelial network allow travel through time as well as space? And if he had travelled in time, had he also travelled in space? Why was he no longer on _Discovery_? Had anyone noticed that he had gone missing? Was Hugh worried?

Any doubts about where and _when_ he was were quenched the moment a third man walked through the door. That aquiline nose, those steely eyes, that face – Paul had seen that face every day for four years on the bust that stood displayed in his high school cafeteria. This was Jonathan Archer.

Archer was briefed by the two men: Hayes speaking, Reed glowering at him. He reached over and turned the speaker back on.

'The major tells me your name is Paul. Tell me, Paul, what are you doing in the Expanse?' Never, in a million years, had Paul thought he would meet Jonathan Archer. He was not just a historical figure, he was a _legend_. He gaped. After a moment's wait, Archer turned to Hayes. 'Why is he handcuffed?'

'Safety precaution, sir.'

'I hardly think that's necessary, major.' Archer turned back to Paul. 'Well, Paul? I'm waiting for an answer.'

'I'm not supposed to be here – sir.' When Paul had been in second grade, he had been given a writing assignment about which historical figure he would like to split a sundae with. He, along with a third of his class, had chosen Jonathan Archer. This was not what he had imagined. Archer raised an eyebrow. 'I'm – I know this will sound insane, but please, you have to believe me: I'm from the future.'

 

* * *

 

'So he just disappeared?' This was the third time Lorca had asked the question, clenching his fist and spreading his fingers, simulating a puff of smoke. Again, Tilly nodded. Michael gave her a weak smile, but she looked worried. Where did he go, cadet?'

'I don't know, sir.' They stood by the spore chamber, where Lorca had checked that the seal was still intact. It was still disturbingly empty. 'Have – have you told doctor Culber, sir?'

'Not yet, Tilly.' Michael said and touched her shoulder. 'This isn't your fault. We'll find him.'

'Burnham, you don't know that!' Lorca turned to her, eyebrows furrowed. 'Maybe this is cadet Tilly's fault. She was the one operating the controls, after all.' Tilly whimpered and looked away, hoping no one would see the tears in her eyes. Where was lieutenant Stamets? _Was_ it her fault?

'It's our duty to consider every possibility, sir. With all due respect, I believe we should retrace our steps and see what we can find.' Michael's hand was still on her shoulder. Lorca glared at them for a moment.

'Very well. How far are we from the previous jump point?'

'Eight hours at standard warp, sir.'

'And at maximum?'

She did the maths.

'Just under five.'

'Right, let's set a course. Maybe he's there. If he's not, maybe it'll give us some idea of where he might be. Burnham, get me the senior staff, on the double.'

Lorca turned on his heels and left. Michael came up to Tilly, touching her again.

'We'll find him, Tilly.' She nudged her chin, making her meet her eye. 'I promise.'

 

* * *

 

'The future?' Archer repeated, eyebrows raised. Hayes exchanged a glance with Reed, showing skepticism and amusement in equal measure. Reed inclined his head.

'Yes, the future.' Paul licked his lips. He was racking his brain to remember the timeline of the first _Enterprise._ 'What year is this – 2153, 2154? You've got MACOs onboard, so it can't be earlier than that.'

'It's January 2154,' Archer said. Hayes opened his mouth to protest, and even Malcolm looked uncomfortable, but Archer lifted a hand. 'When are you from?'

'A hundred years in the future.' How much could Paul tell them without endangering the timeline? The Federation didn't exist yet. He detached his badge and held it out, an awkward movement with his hands still cuffed. 'I'm in Starfleet.'

'Sir, with all due respect–' Hayes began as Archer unlocked the door. He accepted the badge from Paul, carefully studying it.

'Can we do something about these restraints?' Archer asked.

'I would advise against that, sir. We haven't verified his story, and don't even know if he's human. He might have an agenda.'

'I'm afraid I agree with the Major,' Malcolm admitted. All those hours Paul had spent watching interviews with an old Malcolm Reed hadn't prepared him for just how crisp his accent was, all edges and precision.

Archer met Paul's eye and gave an apologetic smile.

'I guess I'm overruled.' He stepped back, and with a grimace, closed the door again. 'How did you get here, Paul?'

'I'm not sure,' Paul admitted. How could he explain he must have travelled through the mycelial network, not only through space but through _time_? He felt certain he wouldn't get home without sharing some information, but he didn't want to come back to an utterly changed universe. 'We're, um, experimenting with alternate forms of space travel. I must have been moved in time instead of space.'

Archer looked convinced. Malcolm looked wary. Hayes, a hand still on his gun, looked decidedly unimpressed. Finally, the captain nodded and unlocked the door again.

'Let's take you to Phlox. Malcolm, Major – if you could?'

Paul walked three steps in front of the two men. He couldn't remember reading about Hayes, but he had never been very interested in the MACOs. Too violent, and not at all in line with Starfleet's values. He was happy when it had been officially disbanded seventeen years ago. Or 85 years in the future. Either or.

'Do you believe him?' he heard Hayes ask Malcolm.

'This isn't the first time we've dealt with a time traveller,' Malcolm replied. 'Usually they're a little more aware of what they're doing.'

'Hey!' Paul called back, giving a quick look over his shoulder – carefully, so Hayes wouldn't have a reason to shoot him again. 'You know I'm right here?'

'Please keep quiet, sir,' Hayes requested. A moment later, he spoke again, more to Reed than to Paul: 'at least if he's from the future, that means we get out of this alive.'

 

* * *

 

'Paul is _missing_ and you didn't think to tell _me_?' Hugh's voice was high and breaking, the worry and anger clear in his voice. Tilly admired him for daring to speak to Captain Lorca like that.

'Do you have some useful input, doctor?' The captain replied. 'You've been told now. That's the important thing. Does anyone have any ideas, theories, anything that could explain where Stamets might be?'

Tilly shifted in her seat, looking at her colleagues at the table. Lorca was leaning back, moving his head to glare at each person in turn. Michael was calculating something on a PADD. Saru fidgeted and touched the back of his head, keeping his ganglia at bay. Hugh had his face in his hands. Ash was staring out into the distance, as though he was trying to remember something.

'We should contact Admiral Cornwell, Captain. We are currently unable to complete our mission and should therefore retreat to a safe distance from the Klingon front line. We are at risk, sir.' Saru said, his voice betraying his fear.

'No, Commander. We can't afford that. No need to drag the Admiral into this. We need to find the Lieutenant and we need to find him _now_. Specialist Burnham, any insights?'

Michael spread her hand over her PADD, bringing up a projection what she had been working on. It was a star chart with numerous data points mapped out. One, glowing a bright red, was larger than the others. She pointed at it.

'That's from where we jumped when Lieutenant Stamets disappeared. These other data points are our previous jumps in the region. I've been unable to find any correlation yet.'

'What are the coordinates?' Ash asked suddenly. Michael answered after a moment's hesitation. Ash's eyes lit up and he smiled, wide and excited. 'I think I know where he is, Captain.'

 

* * *

 

'His physiology is completely human, sir,' Phlox smiled at Archer and patted Paul's knee. Archer had finally convinced Hayes to remove his handcuffs, but he was still cautious to move. The MACO major was fixed on his every movement, ready to act. 'I could do further testing to map his genome, but that would take several hours.'

'That's fine, Doctor. I don't think we need that.' Paul was relieved to hear Archer say this, happy they would not delve deeper into his genetic makeup and discover the tardigrade DNA. 'And is he from the future?'

'I see no reason to doubt his claims that he is from the future. I must say I do like the uniform. Very, ah, sleek.'

Now that he had finished the examination, Phlox had allowed Archer into Sickbay. He was joined by Reed as well as T'Pol and Trip Tucker. Of course he recognised them. T'Pol, ethereal and a little frightening. Tucker, Southern and incredibly handsome. He had reached out a hand and introduced himself, words dripping with charm and a smile that could melt butter. Hayes had returned as well, standing a few steps behind the others, a hand on his weapon.

'It is a good design,' Reed agreed, looking Paul up and down. Hayes rolled his eyes.

'There is, hmmmm, one small thing.' Phlox paused. 'Paul, would you roll up your sleeve, please?' Paul obeyed and when his implant was revealed, Tucker whistled in awe. The Enterprise officers leaned in, studying it.

'That is _beautiful_ ,' Trip murmured, first reaching out to touch the implant and pulling his hand back. 'What is it?'

'That's the problem,' Phlox said, 'he refuses to say.'

Paul wanted to say something, but Tucker was still leaning over him, studying the implant, his fingers now closed around his wrist, turning his arm. The engineer was utterly engrossed, unaware of how much he was infringing upon Paul's personal space.

'I'm sure I can figure it out, Captain.'

'Trip, I'm sure you could, but how about you back off and give our guest some breathing space?' Tucker, chastised, stepped back. Archer smiled and shook his head. 'Tell me, Paul, what is it?'

'It's classified, Captain.' Of all the things the young Paul Stamets had dreamed of as a child, being untruthful to Captain Archer was not one them.

'Why are you here? On the Enterprise, _now_?' T'Pol cut through the silence. It was funny, but Paul hadn't even considered that Archer hadn't asked this. It would have been Lorca's first question.

'I'm here by accident. I meant to go... somewhere else.' The excuse, though true, sounded hollow.

'Where did you mean to go?' Tucker asked. He had taken a step back, and he had crossed his arms over his chest, but he was still staring at the implant. Paul had read enough stories about Tucker to know that if he got a chance, he would pick Paul's implants apart in a moment.

'I told captain Archer,' Paul glanced over at him, 'we're experimenting with non-warp drive travel. I'm the – I'm the pilot. My ship is stranded without me.'

'So you need to get back?'

'Yes.'

Archer looked over at T'Pol, then Trip. He tapped his foot while thinking.

'How can we help you, Paul?'

 

* * *

 

'Computer, bring up the star chart of the area of space we were in when Lieutenant Stamets disappeared.' The stars appeared in the middle of the table, glowing with holographic light. Ash exhaled, reminding Tilly of a lawyer in one of those old movies, preparing to deliver the final blow of his argument. 'Overlay historical star chart of the same area from 2153.'

The stars were now obscured, whirling clouds of smoke covering them.  Just the holographic image made Tilly uncomfortable. She glanced over at the captain, who frowned at the image.

'What am I looking at?' His voice was terse.

'The Expanse,' Saru breathed, his ganglia flaring. 'Surely, Lieutenant Tyler, he couldn't be _there_ , could he?'

'Wait, let me get this right.' Lorca pointed an outstretched hand at Ash, who stiffened in response. 'You think that Stamets, supposed to navigate us to a different set of coordinates, instead took _himself_ to a different _time_? That's ridiculous.' Lorca turned to Michael and Ash relaxed, no longer the focus of attention.'Burnham, your analysis?'

'The Vulcan Science Directorate has determined that time travel does not exist.' Michael glanced at Ash before returning her gaze to the swirling mass of the Expanse. 'However, the lieutenant's theory is a fascinating one. If true, we may be able to corroborate it with the records from the NX-01.'

'This evening we found a time traveller. His name is Stamets and he is from the future.' Lorca said, fixing his eye on Burnham. 'It doesn't sound like a likely journal entry.'

'Unlikely doesn't mean impossible, sir.'

Lorca tapped his fingers, his eyes illuminated by the clouds of the Expanse. Hugh was silent, watching Lorca intently. His chest rose and fell, breathing deep to keep calm.

'It's currently the only lead we have,' he said quietly.

'Don't be dramatic, Doctor.' Lorca didn't even attempt to hide his annoyance. Even Michael looked over in surprise. 'Alright, let's look into it. We can access the logs.I'll talk to Cornwell. Whose do we want?'

'All the senior staff, I'd say. A visitor from another time would surely affect their work. I am certain they would write about it.' Saru offered. Lorca nodded.

'Fine. I'll request the lot. What time period? Tyler, you seem to be our resident history buff. What do you say?'

Ash pursed his lips, thinking.

'I think the anomalies intensified the deeper into the Expanse they reached, and the coordinates where Lieutenant Stamets disappeared are pretty far in. Maybe the last six months before the Expanse dissolved?'

Lorca nodded and got up. The rest of the crew followed. Tilly hoped he wouldn't turn his attention on her.

'Fine. I'll send the request to Admiral Cornwell. Cadet, since you got us into this mess, you can go through the records when they show up.'

'Yes, sir.' Tilly stared at her shoes and felt Michael's hand on her shoulder, a reassuring touch.

'Captain?' Lorca had turned to leave when Michael spoke up, her hand still on Tilly's shoulder. 'Enterprise's first officer. T'Pol.'

'What about her?'

'She's still alive. She lives on Vulcan. We could ask her.'

Lorca paused and looked back at Michael.

'Sure. You call her.'

He left.

 

* * *

 

There had to be a way back to _Discovery_. Paul tapped his fingers against the biobed and wished that he had someone he could talk this through with. He wished he had his lab. He wished he had his mushrooms.

Wait a minute.

That was it. That was the solution.

'Do you have any mycelial spores aboard?' Paul knew his history, at least about the spores, and he knew that even at this point in time, there was some budding interest in the use of spores, though nothing as advanced as the work Paul and Straal was doing. He looked around the room, waiting for an answer. They all looked confused. Reed had glanced back at Hayes, who mouthed _spores?_ at him. The armoury officer shrugged

'Sorry, Paul, I don't – spores?' Archer finally said, his brow knitted in confusion.Phlox spoke up.

'Captain, wait a moment! I think I have something.' The doctor lumbered around sickbay, pulling out drawers and opening cabinets. Paul, along with everyone else, watched him as he searched. 'How about this?'

The Denobulan held a glass container with a nest of mushrooms, fine gills and tall stipes, glowing faintly even under the bright sickbay lights. Paul accepted it and carefully opened it, sticking a hand in and poking one of the caps. It wilted slightly at his touch, releasing a cloud of spores. Everyone but Phlox backed off. He sniffed the air, happily inhaling the spores. Paul put his tongue out, catching a few stray spores. Minty, fresh. Perfect. He carefully replaced the glass covering of the terrarium, careful not to disrupt the mushrooms further. He would need all the spores he could, and he wasn't sure how much they would release. He wasn't familiar with the family the mushrooms belonged to, although they seemed similar to those of the _Agaricales_ order. They were probably from a planet very far away.

'I had my wife Feezal bring me these from a colony she once visited – I'm afraid I can't quite recall the name. They're a highly effective cure for sinus infections. Our Major here can vouch for them. You tried some last week, didn't you?'

'That was _mushrooms_ ? You didn't tell me it was _mushrooms_ .' Hayes was wide-eyed and his voice was strained. He was clearly not familiar with Phlox's never-by-the-book methods of treatment. Reed chuckled at Hayes' discomfort and both Tucker and Archer failed to hide a smile. Paul had loved reading about all the strange ways Phlox treated his patients, and he would often ask Hugh if he ever wanted to imitate him. _Never_ , Hugh replied.

'These will be perfect – thanks.'

'Is that all you need?' T'Pol asked the question, and Paul could sense confusion behind her steely tone. He hesitated.

'I need access to your flight history, hull configuration, and – I'll need some engineering tools and materials. I could prepare you a list?'

'I can give you a hand, if you'd like.' Tucker piped up.

'No,' Archer said, and Tucker's face fell. 'We can't risk historical contamination. If anyone should help Paul, it has to be someone who doesn't know the first thing about engineering. That's if Paul _needs_ help.' He turned to Paul. 'Get me a list. I'll make sure you get you a PADD and we'll coordinate your efforts. Major Hayes, take Paul to one of the guest quarters. Malcolm, Trip, T'Pol, staff meeting in ten minutes.'

Paul sighed in relief as he followed the still-wary MACO. He hugged the fungi close to his chest. He was going to get home.

 

* * *

 

'Have you found anything yet?' Tilly rubbed her eyes and looked over at Ash. Like her, he was on the floor, leaning against a chair, a PADD in his hand. His uniform jacket was unzipped and his hair was tousled from the number of times he had run his hands through it. She was lying on her stomach, her PADD in front of her. They had made little headway. She was very grateful when he offered to help, despite just coming off a ten-hour shift himself.

'No, not really.' Ash rubbed his eyes. 'Except I've learned that Malcolm Reed, my greatest historical hero, was really good at complaining.'

'At least he writes in complete sentences. Half of this is either nonsense or acronyms.' She was reading Captain Archer's logs, both his personal and official, and it meant nothing to her. There were a lot of references to people or places, but it was in some kind of code, and she had no idea how to break it. The little she could gather from context didn't seem to suggest any of these people he made references to was Paul.

'Listen to this.' Ash cleared his throat. ' _Another MACO training. Abysmal results. Hayes lording over us, as per. Should've broken his nose when I had the chance._ '

Tilly scrunched up her face.

'That's not complete sentences, either. Who's Hayes? Should we have his logs?' She looked at the PADDs – one for every _Enterprise_ officer, each PADD identified with a strip of duct tape with the associated name scrawled on it.

'I don't think we'll need it. He was in charge of the MACOs. Doubt we'd get anything from him we wouldn't get from the others. Unless, I'd assume, you want someone complain about Mister Reed.' Ash rolled his head, and Tilly could hear the crack of his neck. He leaned his head against the seat of the chair and looked over at Michael, who was working at a desk a few feet away. 'Specialist Burnham, how's it going?'

'I am making progress, Lieutenant.' During the hours Ash and Tilly had been trawling through the _Enterprise_ logs – manually after an automated search for _Paul_ , _Stamets_ , _2257_ , and _mycelial spores_ had brought up no results – Michael was working to establish contact with T'Pol. An initial call with her father had been unanswered and since then, she had been bounced between various departments of the Vulcan embassy on Earth. Although she didn't say anything, Tilly could tell she was frustrated. 'I will attempt to contact my father again. Please be quiet.'

This time, Sarek responded. Tilly and Ash did their best to stay focused as they continued skimming the journal entries, both pretending that they weren't listening to Michael's conversation with her father. She explained the situation to him and, following a back-and-forth about propriety, Sarek agreed to find and send her T'Pol's personal call sign.

'Well done, Specialist.' Ash smiled at her, bright and friendly. Her responding smile was short and hesitant and she quickly looked away. She mumbled something about carrying out her orders. Tilly hid her smile at their behaviour behind her hand.

'I think I might've found something,' Ash said a few minutes later. 'How does this sound: _Alien in custody. Seemingly human. Stunned by Hayes (unnecessary force as usual – write up?). Claims to be Starfleet. Unverified._ '

'Could be anything,' Tilly said. 'Pretty vague.'

'I agree – _but_.' Ash lifted a hand and raised a finger as he swiped through several log entries with his free hand. 'If it's nothing, why are the next _four_ entries all redacted?'

This piqued Tilly's interest.

'What date is it?' She skipped ahead to the date Ash told her, and let out a low whistle. 'All redacted here, too. That's got to be it, right?'

Ash picked up the other PADDs, one by one, and flipped to the specified date.

'Tucker's. Redacted. T'Pol's. Redacted. Phlox's. Redacted. Mayweather – nothing from that day. Sato…' he trailed off, meeting Tilly's eye. A grin was growing on his face. ' _here is a future_.'

Tilly grabbed the PADD.

'That's _it_?' She stared at the four words, so at odds with the previous and next entry, both of which were several paragraphs long. 'This has got to be it, right?'

'It _has_ to be, right?' Ash's words came fast and excited and Tilly was sure the grin on her face was as wide as his, all teeth and glowing eyes.

'Cadet. Lieutenant.' Michael's voice was low, apologetic. 'Even if these entries are about Lieutenant Stamets, we have at present no information on how we can help him find his way back to our century.'

'We just have to get permission to see the entries, right? It shouldn't be that hard.' Tilly looked at Ash, who shrugged.

'It might be harder than you'd think, as –' Michael said, but she didn't continue her line of thought as a _ping_ from her console distracted her. 'We might not need to do that, after all. I have the communication frequency for T'Pol.'

Ash and Tilly grinned at each other. They were going to find him.

 

* * *

 

'Do you need any help?'

Paul looked up. Hoshi Sato stood in the doorway, hands folded behind her back. He hadn't met her yet, but of course he knew her face.

'I thought captain Archer said no one on his crew should help me?'

'Oh, I don't know the first thing about mechanics,' Hoshi admitted, 'so I thought you wouldn't mind if I popped in. I'm Hoshi Sato. I wanted to see what the future sounded like. And offer some help.'

The second offer of help was hurried, as though she was embarrassed to suggest that she had any other intention.

'You can hand me that wrench. No, the other one.' He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, Phlox's mushrooms at his side, the skeleton of his makeshift spore separator in front of him. Hoshi handed him the wrench and sat down to watch him. 'Miss Sato, are you conducting espionage?' His tone was light and he wasn't concerned about the risk of contaminating the timeline – there was only enough spores for one try, and after he activated it he had set it to self-destruct.

Of course, if this _didn't_ work, he would have even more problems than he did currently.

'Just listening to you. I can usually tell where people are from.' She scrunched up her nose, exhaling in annoyance. 'I can't with you.'

'Guess that's the future, messing it up.' He began attaching the tubes, gerry-rigged with needles for his implants, to the contraption. It had been a while since the last time he had worked with his hands – the spore drive of _Discovery_ , although overseen by him, was built by a crew of engineers – and he had missed it. He had once considered setting up a workshop in his quarters, but Hugh had put his foot down. Hugh. Paul hoped he wasn't too worried. Almost a full day had passed since he found himself on _Enterprise_. He had eschewed the suggestion that he should sleep, instead requesting access to the materials at once. He was almost done. He'd be home soon.

'Can you tell me something about the future?' He jumped at Hoshi's voice. He had forgotten she was there. She sat with her chin rested on her palm, legs crossed beneath her. 'Not anything classified. But something. Are people happy there?'

'I am.' He was still thinking about Hugh.

'Tell me more.'

So Paul told her about Hugh, how they had met and how he put up with all his insanities. She was a good listener, asking enough questions but never probing too deep. When he asked her to, she held things in place as he secured them with nuts, bolts and rolls of tape.

'Future doesn't sound all bad,' she concluded when Paul had finished his work, leaning back on his palms.

'I have to say the past isn't too bad, either.' Hoshi smiled at him, bright and hopeful. He offered her a hand and they watched the contraption he'd built for a moment or two.

'Is it going to work?' Paul nodded. 'Then let's tell the captain. That said... have you been to the mess hall at all? Let me get you some food.'

She offered him her arm and, his hand crooked in the bend of her arm, they walked to the mess hall.

 

* * *

 

Tilly and Ash watched Michael as she got ready to call T'Pol. She fidgeted with her hair; she straightened her collar. She moved her head side to side, breathing deep.

'Nervous?' Ash was sympathetic, but there was a teasing note in his voice. His uniform jacket had been discarded onto the armchair he was leaning against. When Michael shot him an annoyed glance, he ducked his head. 'You look great. She's going to love you.'

'She's Vulcan – I highly doubt she cares about how I look.' Ash bit back a grin. Tilly nudged his leg with her boot as a rebuke. 'Now, please, be quiet. I will call her.'

Tilly moved over to sit next to Ash, who had a perfect view of Michael, handsome in half-profile. She rested her head on his shoulder, stifling a yawn. He leaned his head against hers.  They watched Michael.

The comm link beeped in waiting. Michael touched her hair again, giving one last exhale. It only took a few seconds before the call was answered.

Although she was almost 100 years older than the pictures Tilly had grown up with, she was unmistakably T'Pol. The Vulcan raised her hand in greeting, though her face was stern.

' _La i'shoret veh o-T'Pol._ ' Michael said. Tilly wondered what it meant. 'I am Specialist Michael Burnham of the USS Discovery. I have come to ask you for help.'

' _I'nazhu-tor veh._ What do you need?' T'Pol's voice was low and calm.

'One is the ship's officers is missing. We have reason to believe that you might know where he is. Or, rather, was.'

'Time travel.' Was that a smirk on her face? 'What's this officer's name?'

'Lieutenant Paul Stamets.'

The silence that followed, although it could only have been a few seconds long, was the most dragged-out silence Tilly had ever experienced. She dug her nails into Ash's arm. He put his hand over hers, to comfort her and to pry her fingers off.

'Yes.' T'Pol said finally. Tilly felt her anxiety start to dissolve. Michael's shoulders, rigid with worry, loosened. 'We have met. Almost a hundred years ago.'

'What did he do?' T'Pol raised her eyebrows.

'He went back to his own time.'

A new feeling, deep and draining, filled Tilly's chest.

'He's not here.' Michael's tone was still polite, but there was an undercurrent of frustration and – perhaps, just maybe, there was a trace of fear. Despite her human body, Tilly could still not quite read her. 'I would not have contacted you if he were, ma'am.'

'It's time travel. He's human. Maybe he made a mistake.' At Michael's face, a faint shifting in her muscles that was almost imperceptible to Tilly, T'Pol backtracked. 'He may yet have to materialise. The device he used was primitive.'

'The device?'

'Yes. He built a device that would enable him to travel back to his own time. It was destroyed once he had left. We were unable to do any analysis on the remnants.' She anticipated the question Tilly would have asked: if they could get their hands on the device, they might be able to find a clue on where he might have gone.

'Thank you.' Michael's voice shivered, betraying emotion she tried to keep inside. 'I shouldn't keep you further, _t'sai_.'

'Specialist.'

'Yes?'

'What were those implants on his arms?'

Knowledge of the spore project was on an extremely need-to-know basis. The fact that Paul Stamets has carried out unauthorised genetic manipulation was even more secret. Tilly expected Michael to quote the regulations and side-step the question. She didn't expect an honest answer.

'It's how we travel.'

Again, a shadow of a smile flickered on the old Vulcan's face.

'That's what Trip always thought. He would have enjoyed being proven right. Thank you, Specialist.'

After the transmission ended with traditional farewell, Michael pressed her palms against the table, head hanging low. If Michael was the sort, she would swear. Hell, Tilly wanted to swear. He couldn't be gone forever. He couldn't.

 

* * *

 

'You know, we don't have a chef onboard our ship,' Paul said as he propped another spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. 'You've got it better.'

'Betraying secrets of the future, are you?' Hoshi stuck her tongue out at him, grinning. Paul had always thought Hoshi was the wallflower of _Enterprise_ , quiet and withdrawn. He was happy to be proven wrong. Hoshi Sato was an absolute delight. Her face lit up, spotting someone behind him and raising a hand. 'Travis! Come join us.'

Travis Mayweather sat down at their table, his plate heaped with chicken and potatoes.

'So you're Mister Future,' Travis said, offering a hand.

'That's my code name, apparently.' Paul smiled. 'And you're Travis Mayweather.'

Travis' grin spread from ear to ear.

'You know who I am!'

'The pilot of a generation – isn't that right?'

Travis grinned, tongue stuck between his teeth.

'So you can't tell us anything about the future?' Paul shook his head. 'Come on, something. Heard you told Major and Malcolm something.'

'I did?'

'Archer High School?' Travis asked, poking a fork at him.

'Oh, _that._ ' Paul scrunched up his face, trying to think of a non-dangerous fact about his present – their future – to tell them. The young helmsman was watching him intently. 'You know, I, uh, I really shouldn't tell you.'

'Come on, _something_. It doesn't have to be something _big._  Just _something_.'

Paul thought about it.

'Okay, listen up.' He beckoned both ensigns with a finger. They leaned in to listen. 'I'm going to tell you something about your esteemed captain.' Travis inhaled and rubbed his hands together. Hoshi looked both excited and concerned. 'When Jonathan Archer retires from Starfleet, he opens a beagle shelter.'

Hoshi released a squee of delight and Travis' grin spread from ear to ear.

'You're kidding,' Travis finally said.

'Wouldn't you like to know?' Paul winked and finished his coffee. 'Right, I think it's time for me to go. Ensign Sato, will you take me to the Captain?'

 

* * *

 

'We should give captain Lorca a report.' Michael finally said. Ash got to his feet and hoisted Tilly up to a standing position. He held her hand longer than he needed to, giving her comfort she desperately needed. Paul was gone, probably forever, and it was all her fault.

'I can do it.' Ash's offer was generous, but both Tilly and Michael shook their heads.

'No, I'm the one who talked to T'Pol. Besides, you are not on duty. I don't think the captain would want you to be helping. The cadet and I will do it.'

'We will?' Tilly could already see how Lorca would react to the news. He would shout at them both, directing most of his ire at Tilly. Maybe he would flip his bowl of fortune cookies, letting them crash to the floor. Or perhaps, and this was even worse, he would sound utterly calm as he explained why they were incompetent idiots, unable to even find a single man displaced in time.

'I'm afraid so, Tilly.' Michael's hand on her back was warm, leading her to the door. Ash waved them goodbye.

They were halfway down the hall when they heard Saru's voice from a speaker.

'Specialist Michael, cadet Tilly.' Michael acknowledged the call, still holding onto Tilly, supporting her. 'I think you should probably come to Engineering. Something's happening to the spore chamber.'

 

* * *

 

'So this is Porthos.' Paul kneeled and accepted the paw that Porthos offered, shaking it and scratching his head. The dog leapt up on his knee, claws scratching against his uniform for purchase. Archer tutted and lifted Porthos from his lap. He cradled him as one would a child, and smiled fondly.

'First dog on a Starfleet vessel. And the best dog, too.' He kissed Porthos' forehead and stroked him behind his ears.

They were in Archer's ready room. It was a bright and functional room, with metal desks and beautiful paintings of ancient ships. It was very at odds with Lorca's darkened office. This was definitely a friendlier place. But then again, Archer's time was a simpler one. Yes, things were changing with the Xindi conflict, the ugly side of space exploration was rearing its head, but this early Starfleet was naive and innocent. This was before the Romulan war. This was before the failed colonisations where thousands died from lack of food. This was before Tarsus IV. Paul found himself wanting to warn Archer about the dangers ahead. Or, maybe, he wanted to tell Archer that he was, in this moment, building the future that was the foundation of everything Paul knew. That there was no future without the original _Enterprise_.

But he couldn't.

'Permission to disembark, sir?' This, at least, he could safely say.

'Yes, lieutenant.'

Archer followed him to the quarters where he had built his machine. He must have called Trip and T'Pol, who were waiting by the door when they arrived.

'I hear you're leaving us.' Trip's drawl was comforting. Paul nodded. 'Sure you can't tell me what those implants are?'

'That's classified.'

Archer chuckled. Paul waited by the door, suddenly nervous. He felt the captain's hand on his shoulder.

'Good luck, Paul.' He opened the door and turned back to look at them one more time, squashing down his nerves that maybe, maybe, this wouldn't work. It had to work.

'Good luck to you, too.'

As the doors slid shut, he saw Archer salute him, Trip give him a lazy wave, and T'Pol offer him a short nod. He was going home.

 

* * *

 

Tilly's heart was in her throat as she ran to Engineering. Michael kept up easily with her frantic pace, long strides against her haphazard steps. Michael didn't object when she ran past the turbolift and shimmied down a jeffries tube. You have to _wait_ for an turbolift and Tilly did not want to wait. She paused for half a second before opening the Engineering doors, drawing one deep breath to steady herself.

The spore chamber was alive with light and a soft susurration. If she didn't know better, she would say the spores were _singing_. They swirled and danced in the chamber.

'It's not supposed to do that. Did you fill the chamber?' She was at the control station in a couple of steps, forcing the crewman aside. He shook his head. She looked at Michael, whose eyes flicked from the spores' dance to Tilly and back.

As she scrambled with the controls, trying to make heads or tails of the haywire readings, she saw Hugh enter the room, the white of his uniform stark against the darkness of Engineering. He talked to Michael, staring at the swirl of the spores, grilling her for answers. Ever the diplomat, she sidestepped the questions, a polite _I'm not sure_ substituting for _I don't know_.

This is what Tilly knew: these readings did not make sense. There shouldn't even _be_ spores in the chamber, and they looked different from the ones she was used to. How they got there was a mystery. What they were doing was even more of a mystery. She pressed the heels of her palms against her face, trying to figure out how she could find out what was happening without putting the ship in danger. She had already lost their chief scientist – she was not about to lose the ship, too.

Suddenly the room was very silent. It was the silence you might find on a rollercoaster in the split second before the drop. It was the silence before a jump. The spores has stilled, too, frozen in animation. Then, like a water tank bursting from too much pressure, the spores moved with force, and suddenly, magically, unexplainably, there he was.

Paul Stamets stood in the spore chamber.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was where he was supposed to be, the swirl of spores dancing around him. There was Michael and Tilly, out of breath and staring. And, there: Hugh, drawn and worried, and then his face unfolding in relief and love, his hand pressed up against the chamber's glass.

'I'm home,' said Paul Stamets.


End file.
